


Even Death Needs to Rest

by hhike



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Comfortember, Drabbles, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 18,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhike/pseuds/hhike
Summary: Writing a drabble a day after the prompts from https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/comfortemberWhat better characters for comfort than Mando the Space Dad and his Kid?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 119
Kudos: 145
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	1. First Night

Din let out a long breath that he was holding ever since he shot Karga. It’s been an hour at least, but only now did he allow himself to relax a bit. Nevarro finally dropped off the long range scanners of the  _ Crest _ , and it looked like no one was able to follow them amid the carnage. With the autopilot engaged, Din finally had a chance to turn around in his chair and slump just a little bit.

He was ready to fall asleep on the spot, murdering half the imperial remnant had a habit of tiring one out. Before that, though, there was a seemingly oblivious green womp rat in his copilot chair who seemed fascinated with the starscape and the  _ Crest _ ’s controls. Learning from last time, he didn’t even consider leaving the child in the cockpit while he was sleeping. 

There was some storage space in the hold, next to the weapons locker that could comfortably fit the Kid, and with a couple of unused, rough blankets it would be good enough while they figure out where to regroup.

With the child safely in place, locked in his “room”, Din finally collapsed on his cot, barely conscious, with his ears still ringing from the explosions, seeing blaster bolts fly across his field of vision every time he blinked. He was no stranger to this.

Yet, something felt off. Din checked the sensors obsessively, waiting for yet another ambush, someone following them using a tracking fob, or just a star destroyer dropping out of hyperspace. The thing that eventually startled him from this anxiety-laced half-sleep was a metallic clang coming from the weapons locker.

Making the trip from his cabin to the hold in record time, Din saw that the weapons locker was undisturbed. The source of the sound? The ball from the ship’s throttle right below the Kid’s space, with a tiny green hand reaching out through the gap between the doors and the bottom of the compartment.

A button press on his vambrace opened up the unit, revealing a wide awake little gremlin.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?”

Din thought for a short moment before scooping up the kid in his hands and gave his best to muster a smile. The child seemed unfazed. It took Din a couple of seconds to realize he hadn’t even taken his helmet off until now - his chuckle at himself finally got the kid to make happier noises as well.

“You know what?” Din put him back into his space and grabbed the metal sphere, then wedged himself into the tight storage unit. “I’m gonna make sure you can calm down and sleep, ok?”

Din was far from comfortable: back arched, knees bent, head at an odd angle. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to stay long, even though he had no clear escape plan without waking up the Kid, who was currently making himself comfortable in Din’s lap.

Half a minute was all it took for both of them to fall asleep.


	2. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night terrors are not only a mando's privilege.

Omera is screaming into the darkness. At the very least, she’s trying to, her throat is hurting already but no sound escapes her mouth. Her mind is split in two. She knows,  _ intellectually knows _ that she’s sitting up in her bed, in her hut on Sorgan. The other part is still stuck in a dream, not retaining any images or sounds, but still urging her heart to beat faster and her muscles to tense.  _ Danger. _

She’s trying to slow her breaths, but the more she thinks about it, the worse it gets. She leans back against the wall and her eyes fall shut but the moment they do she hears the trees creaking as the walker pushes through them.

That’s when Din stops snoring next to her and groggily looks up at Omera. His eyes focus at a moment’s notice, and he’s sitting next to her before she can finish the thought.

“Hey, I’m here, what’s up? Bad dream?” His whisper has no trace of sleepiness in it.

Omera tries answering but all she manages is a nod.

“Okay. Listen to me.” Din wraps an arm around her, firmly, pulling her closer so she can feel his warmth. He takes her hand while he’s talking, calm and measured. “Your body is still catching up to your mind, it’ll pass, you’re OK, and I’m here. I’m holding your hand, right this moment, and we’re going to be OK.”

The sensation of his hand in her does ground her, it’s something to hold on to.

“That’s it. It’s gonna take a while before we can go back to sleep, but I’ll be here for all of it.  _ Ratiin _ .”

  
_ Always,  _ he says. And Omera believes him.


	3. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din makes new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, so good.

Din’s hand was resting on the hilt of his blaster. He had gotten back early, so now he had to grit his teeth and watch Peli’s droids work their magic. Din had ways to calm down, but most of those ways involved either being able to board the  _ Crest _ (not likely with the droids still there) or shooting people (not likely with so many witnesses around).

  
  


So, he grit his teeth and settled for imagining ways he would shoot, dismember and take apart the tin cans currently violating his ship. It hurt seeing her like this, insides all over the place, hooked up to machines keeping her alive. Din considered this his penance for getting the  _ Crest  _ so beat up.

He was so focused on keeping track of all three pit droids that he almost didn’t notice Peli walking up next to him.

“Oh, stop being so pent up, you! They’re not gonna break it! At least not any more than you did.”

Din forced his hand away from his holster, and loosened his jaw. No point in intimidating Peli.

“See? Better already. Tell me: do you trust me with your ship?”

“Yes.”

Peli had been indispensable indeed. There were times where Din was sure he’d have to scrap the ship, but the woman worked wonders with a hydrospanner. Some occasions, he wondered if she was one of those sorcerers the legends were talking about. 

“Exactly! And who do you think programmed those droids, hm? That’s right. I did it with my own two hands and seven keyboards.”

“Hm.”

She had a point. IG was built for murder, yet Kuill’s programming and care made it into a droid who protected all of them. Just like Kuill. It seemed like all these droids seemed to inherit some traits of their creators, and, looking at Peli, if they got one tenth of her wit they would surely do a good job.

“You know, you’re right. I should go see what the kid is up to.”

It took several more stops at Peli’s hanger before Din could entirely relax at the sight of the droids, and vice versa, but every journey had to begin somewhere. This one in a chaotic yet somehow organized hangar on Tatooine.


	4. Cuddling

The flight to Nevarro was long, and all the crew needed some rest before the confrontation with the Client, and possibly Greef Karga. Din was fighting off sleepiness for now, because he still had to go over his gear before the final stretch of their trip.

He had ordered everyone out of the cockpit a while earlier so that he could disassemble his armor and inspect every last inch - including his helmet. It was still young and bore no marks, despite having taken more shots than the average suit of armor does in its entire lifespan. 

Din went over his most reliable blaster and the amban rifle, making sure everything connected well and not a single bit of energy would be wasted when he pulled the trigger. He didn’t know what sort of opposition was waiting for them, so he needed to prepare for everything, including taking on an entire army by himself. 

Once he made sure not one speck of dust remained in any of his gear, Din put his armor back on, made sure every piece was hooked into the system, and unlocked the hatch to the cargo hold. 

“Okay, I’m done, one of you can come up and claim a seat to sleep in, maybe --” Din stopped midway through the sentence once he hopped off the ladder and landed in the hold proper. What he saw was two blurgs, Kuill, Cara, and even the Baby huddled in a pile to one side of the space. At least two of them were loudly snoring.

Din made sure to take a picture of the group for if he ever needed to blackmail them, then carefully settled down at the side of the group, making sure not to touch anyone but the blurg he was leaning against. Tomorrow, he would have to face the Client. For now, he would enjoy the last moment of calm before the storm.


	5. Afraid to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threat is averted but the job is far from done.

Omera was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, her brows furrowed. Not a word had been said in the minute since she opened the door to Winta’s bedroom.

“Winta.” Omera didn’t have all night, there was work to be done in the morning and so far rest had eluded her. “You know I can see the light in your room even when your door is closed. What are you still doing awake?”

“Nothing.” She was hunched over her tiny desk. Every inch of it was covered with sheets of paper and pencil shavings.

“The same nothing you’ve been doing all week?” Omera took a step inside to get a better look at just what Winta has been working on. Across the table there were several detailed drawings of the Mandalorian, the little green alien, but also the walker that they still haven’t managed to completely disassemble. Winta leaned over them in a protective move when Omera reached out, so instead of grabbing a drawing she put a hand on Winta’s shoulder and pulled her into a half-hug. “I miss them too.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Winta broke the silence. “What if they come back?”

Omera’s grip tightened on her. “I’d.. like that, and maybe they will.”

“No, I mean the Klatoonians. There’s still a lot of them left.”

This was a different kind of conversation then, it seemed. Maybe it was better, explaining to Winta that they were ready to kill if the raiders came back was easier than explaining what she felt about the Mandalorian still. She pressed a kiss on top of Winta’s head.

“We’re going to be okay. They don’t have the walker anymore, and the Mandalorian left us some ammo and weapons. And now I’m not the only one who knows how to use them.”

“Will I have to fight them too?”

“Only if you want to.”

Winta seemed to relax at that. Omera had practiced this conversation before, it had come up with the village elders and it had come up when she gossiped with the others during work. Driving them back had been a small victory, but people were still afraid to spend time outside. 

“Okay.” Winta said into her embrace, then leaned back to punctuate it with a tearful smile.

Omera used her newly freed up hand to stroke Winta’s hair. “Alright. We’re gonna be OK. But we both need sleep now, tomorrow will be a long day. See you in the morning?”

“See you in the morning.”

Omera carefully closed the door behind her, and waited until the light went out before she let out a long, deep sigh. It was her turn now to lie awake in her bed and face her demons, but for Winta and for the village, she knew she could.


	6. Blanket Fort

The Child was in danger. This ever-shifting network of tunnels was labyrinthian and he had lost track of the path he took minutes ago. Even if he managed to escape his pursuer, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to retrace his steps at all. It felt like the walls were slowly shifting around him.

He passed a root or some stalactite and made note of it - at least _some_ landmark to gain his bearings once he shook his pursuer. The farther he got from the entrance the more the dark crept in around him, and the more often he stumbled. Lucky for him the terrain was forgiving, maybe the only positive thing in this whole ordeal.

The kid took a few deep breaths and listened for any sounds in his environment. He didn’t know which way was out, or even _up_ for that matter, but at least he couldn’t hear the monster’s sounds anymore. Staying in this spot for a few hours was tempting, just to catch his breath, just to get his bearings. He probably had enough air to breathe, it didn’t smell stale, but his hunger was growing rapidly, and he knew he needed to plot a route outside before long.

His stomach growled at the thought of steaming, hot soup, and he knew at that moment that he was lost. There was movement on his left, a dark shape at the edge of his vision. He didn’t wait long enough to make out what it was - everything that moved in this place was out for his blood.

The path ahead was gradually getting tighter, and soon the child found himself on all fours, his ears flat and pressed against his head. Behind him, he could feel the limbs of the beast chasing him, in front of him, there was only darkness. The only thing that gave him hope was a familiar scent, something that must be coming from the outside, getting stronger with each inch he progressed forward.

That thought, the hope of finally finding food was what got him through the last bit. He pushed against the soft but unyielding wall, dug his toes in, until finally, the wall gave out and he tumbled down the side of the mountain. 

He was unharmed, free, and hopefully not hungry for much longer.

* * *

Din was watching the Baby from the other end of the hall, and just saw him tumble out from the fresh pile of laundry, with Winta still stuck in there from the hips up, her feet aimlessly looking for solid ground.

Omera walked around the bar to stand next to Din and revel in the Kid’s smug smile when he noticed his stuck pursuer.

“Do you think we should help her out?” She asked.

Din considered this for a moment.

“No. She needs to learn not to mess with Mandalorians.”


	7. Lashing Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some scavengers need to reckon with the consequences of their actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains f-bombs and jawas.
> 
> Sorry y'all, this Monday has not been short, and my brain is mush. You shall suffer with me.

Mark put down his recently emptied bowl on the counter and crossed the common room to sit down at the table next to his friend, still elbow deep in dinner. His surroundings did not reflect Mark’s somber mood - everyone was still celebrating, or eating, or both, with sticky and disastrous consequences.

Sure, they had won a victory, a great one at that, but at what cost? Not everyone got to enjoy the egg and the celebrations.

“Right?” Kyle’s voice broke Mark’s train of thought.

“Pardon?”

“I said..” Kyle stuffed a bit of the sticky insides of the egg into his mouth, chewed for long seconds, swallowed, then continued, spitting bits of yolk all over Mark with every word. “It’s been a long while since we had such a good meal!”

Mark sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Taking that derelict gunship was a good idea after all!”   
  
“You mean that Mando’s ship?”

“Yeah, I mean the dumb tin can who parked in the no parking zone. Doesn’t he look before he lands? Offworlders.”

Mark felt anger building in his stomach.

“You mean.. this was  _ your  _ idea?” He lifted his gaze from the table to look into Kyle’s eyes. All he saw were glee and pride.

“Hell yeah! And see how it paid off!”

Mark wasn’t sure when he stood up, or why he was yelling.

“ _ Paid off? _ Are you serious? He threw Jacob and Kathy off the fortress! He  _ killed _ Jeff! I was standing right next to him when he was fucking pulverized. And then he nearly set us on fire after we were nice to him! Is that what you call a success?”

Kyle finished slurping the last of his meal from his bowl before looking at Mark.

“I mean… we got the egg right? And to be honest Jeff was kind of an asshole anyway.”

Mark really  _ wanted _ to keep being angry, he wanted to punch Kyle, to draw a blaster or hurl a pit droid head at him, but he had to admit, he had a point. At the end of the day, the Jawas led a life of danger, adventure, and sacrifices for the greater good. He slowly sat down and sighed.

Jeff  _ was _ kind of an asshole. “Fucking Jeff.”


	8. Confession

Din had a good relationship with his conscience. The Way had most of the answers, and where it was lacking, Din had some simple rules to fill in the missing bits. Be kind to people in need. Respect the bounty hunter code. Only murder when necessary. His moral code took him through life to this point, and there were few times where he had to second guess himself.

This week was different. Din had this nagging feeling, gnawing at the back of his mind, regardless of what he was up to. It could be a standoff with blasters drawn, it could be making caff, or negotiating for information. Didn’t matter. Din could not shake the feeling of being watched. 

Not even the safe haven of the Razor Crest protected him against his own demons. He was leaning against the wall now, watching the droplets of caff fall into his cup. What little sleep he had gotten was restless and fitful.

The nights were hardest. Din often needed to postpone the final tally with his conscience, most of the time when on the hunt he had to act on instinct and think about his actions later. He had developed a system to hide his questionable choices from the watchful eyes of his demons, and deal with them when the hunt was over. 

He had turned in his last bounty days ago, and yet every time he sat down to think, to reckon with himself, his mind refused to work. Some sins were too big for breathing exercises and meditation.

At night, his walls fell down and his subconscious bore down on him. Din heard noises coming from between the hulls of the  _ Crest _ , he saw eyes at the edge of his vision that vanished when he blinked.

The tipping point was when Din got so distracted that he almost forgot to engage the landing gear when touching down on a planet. The  _ Crest _ would have survived, sure, but he had just finished hammering out all the dents after his last unfortunate trip. Things had to change.

Din stood up from his seat and faced the empty space behind him in the cockpit.

“Fine!”, he groused to the void. “You win! I can’t take this.” Din slumped against the backside of his chair. The Way couldn’t give him guidance, his mind couldn’t give him solace. He had to come clean.

“I ate the last slice! I did it and I pretended you forgot you did! I’m sorry. We’ll get some more the next we’re on Sorgan, OK?”

Din immediately felt his chest lighten, and he no longer felt like a thousand eyes were watching him. The trip to Sorgan would be long, and the pastries expensive, but thus was the price of redemption.

Minutes passed, and the first, welcome noise he heard was the Kid’s tiny footsteps as he waddled into the cockpit. Din could have sworn there was a shade of smugness in his expression as he climbed up onto the controls to stare at the sky.


	9. Crying

“It’s a damn shame, that’s what it is.” Cara put down her mug on the charred remains of a table with a little more force than she probably intended. This wasn’t their first drink of the night, and it wasn’t going to be their last.

Din was sitting across her, still somewhat uncomfortable, even after a couple days’ rest and bacta. They all got beat up pretty bad the week before, but at least they had escaped with their lives. Not everyone had been so lucky. 

They had buried Kuiil and what remains they could find of IG a few days before.  _ Them _ meaning mostly Cara, since Greef still had his arm in a sling, and Din couldn’t get the shovel deep enough into the rocky ground after the bacta wore off. She hadn’t said a word of complaint and kept digging with routine.

The days since then were a haze of fitful sleep, clearing rubble and stretching their healing limbs. For Cara and Greef, this often meant helping themselves to the salvageable bottles from the bar they were hiding out in not so long ago. Somehow, a few cans survived blaster fire, explosions and actual fire and didn’t taste any worse for it.

“It is a shame.” Din replied after unclenching his jaw. “He died a noble death, protecting the kid, not because we paid him to do so but because it was the right thing to do.”

“Yeah.” Cara poured herself another tall drink. “Too bad the  _ right thing _ somehow always ends up with the good ones dead. Just  _ gone-- _ ” she clumsily snapped her fingers, “Like that, forever.”

“Not everyone. Some keep marching on.”

Cara just looked at Din in response, peering at him from behind a few rebellious strands of hair.

“When mandalorians are killed, they.. don’t die, they move on and join the  _ manda _ .”

“Seriously? Didn’t take you for the spiritual type.”

“It’s.. more than that.” Din shifted in his seat, his vertebrae rewarding him with searing hot pain. “The  _ manda _ is what it means to be Mandalorian, it’s both our souls and our culture. You’re part of it all your life, and that doesn’t change when your body gives out.”

“Huh. Sounds to me like the same deal my commander was blabbering about with the force and all.” Cara looked down and swirled the drink around in her mug, as if the bottom of the dirty steel cup would hold some answer she could divine this way. “Kuiil might have been on board with that. Too bad he wasn’t a mando huh.”

Din’s fist clenched, grabbing a bottle that wasn’t there. He could have killed for a drink.

“Too bad.”

They didn’t talk much while Cara finished the bottle of moonshine. Din waited patiently until the last drops were gone then grabbed a bottle on his way out of the cantina.


	10. PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Nightmares, Death, Trauma

It is Din’s turn tonight. He’s backed into a corner, cold steel against his back, the blanket nowhere to be found. His breath is quick, jagged, he was screaming moments ago to drown out the pain. He can feel the recycled air on his face and knows,  _ knows _ it was a dream and he’s awake now.

Not all of his mind got the memo. His heart is still racing, he’s sweating, and his hand is still scrambling on his cot for the amban rifle, the blaster, or anything blunt and heavy to defend himself.

_ You can’t shoot death, Din. _

His eyes are starting to adjust and they dart around the room, identifying threats in the shadows. Din starts counting the corners of the cabin, silently mouthing each number. It’s a weird shape, there’s plenty of nooks and crannies, so it takes him a minute to go over it three times. 

With his breath under control Din takes inventory. His lizard brain is still screaming at him to fight, or if that isn’t an option, to run, but he forces himself to sit upright and reaches for his vambrace next to the cot. He keys in  _ 1234 _ , then checks the status display. Three green checkmarks.

Kid still on board.

Engines still running.

No other craft nearby.

_ Lies _ , his brain says, but Din has evidence now, and a line to the current reality. He knows he won’t be getting any more sleep this cycle, but he isn’t ready to face the day yet.

He’d dreamt of droids again, of his parents, with their blurry, undefined features, and Kuiil. He’s used to the nightmares, and they weren’t too frequent or too bad. The Way is violent, and Mandalorians get used to danger and stress one way or another. Their elders tell them how to cope, how to compartmentalize, how to seek solace in their creed. But no one tells them how to deal with death, loss, and grief.

He’s figuring it out as he goes, improvisation is one of his strengths. Caff helps. So does running his hand along the walls of the  _ Crest _ as he walks to the caff machine. Seeing his HUD flicker to life when it connects to the rest of his armor. Anything and everything that helps him be present in this moment.

The Baby is waiting for him in the cockpit, eager to end their journey and dock so he can try to eat everything that looks like food - and everything that doesn’t, too. They still have a couple more hours though, so Din plays with him, throwing the little metal ball back and forth. The Kid is getting better at it.

Death is still looming over Din, but he has the tools to cope, and looking at the little one’s delighted smile, he also has the motivation. Death will have to wait.


	11. Emotional Support Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a pet, but definitely emotional support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, SPOILERS for Season 2 Ep 3.

It had been a long, unending week behind Din. He had been eaten, spit out, crashed, swindled, crashed again, attacked by giant, man-eating spiders, crashed  _ again _ , almost drowned, and apparently, deceived for most of his life. The  _ Crest _ smelled like week-old fish and seaweed, and every time he adjusted the course he feared it would fall apart. Peli would not be happy once he made his way back to Tatooine.

He was worried about leaving the cockpit even after they entered hyperspace - there was a worrying rattling coming from the left engine. Still, his armor required maintenance and his body demanded caff. He would have to take his chances.

Din climbed down into the hold and sat down on a crate next to the weapons locker, then started dismantling his armor. Starting with the gloves, the intricately connected digits, the plates on the back of his hand. His armor was more than just a few plates of beskar: there was an entire layer of wiring and electronics. Some of those were dedicated to enhancing Din’s senses, looking for heat signatures and radio waves, while others helped him control his jetpack. He was thankful for the extra utility they provided, but it meant every time he took off the armor he had to untangle the colorful wires and remove them from their sockets.

The plates on the front had taken quite a beating. Beskar is strong, and it held up, not even a concentrated volley of blaster fire could penetrate it, but it did dull the shine and left some scorch marks. So, Din started the painstaking process of polishing it. 

Normally, doing this helped calm his nerves and ground him, but now every impact mark reminded him of the three mandalorians he met not long ago. Their armor looked the part, and they fought like true mandalorians. Maybe they  _ were _ following the Way.

That meant someone had lied to Din. His grip on his shoulder pad tightened. Who could he trust, if even the Armorer had lied?

A familiar metallic sound came from the cockpit and interrupted his train of thought. Din tossed the shoulder plate aside and stomped to the base of the ladder.

“I told you a  _ thousand _ times, don’t play with that THING!” He hadn’t intended the last word to come out as a shout but his voice started rising in the middle of the sentence and he had no way of stopping it.

The kid peered over the edge of the hatch above Din, not quite understanding why he was being scolded. That or, he was doing his usual “I did absolutely nothing” act.

All it took for Din’s body to slow down was a glimpse of the pointy green ears of his kid. He was going to get back to polishing and tearing himself up over who was right or wrong, but the baby’s tiny voice coming from above made him climb the ladder instead. He gathered the child in his arms on his way to the cockpit, speaking softly now.

“Alright, let’s see what trouble you brewed this time you little gremlin.”


	12. Baking

The day had been long already but a sliver of the sun was still visible over the hills of Sorgan. They said there were places on the planet where on this day it wouldn’t set at all. Omera’s village wasn’t that lucky, but they made sure to make the extra daylight of the summer solstice count.

Omera was finishing up the last few pieces of decorations - stars fashioned from straw, windchimes, lanterns. There were some new additions this year, some chimes had been fashioned from the discarded parts of the walker that the Klatoonians wielded months ago. These pieces were polished enough that they reflected the light of the first emerging stars in the sky, and Omera’s gaze followed them to their source. Looked like they would get away without a storm tonight.

Omera walked around the common house to find a couple of men standing in a loose circle around a pot of stew, held with iron chains above a pit of embers.

“I  _ told _ you we should have used more salt!”

“You didn’t say anything! And you’re wrong on top of that, if anything, this needs some more spice, not salt!”

“Come  _ on _ , you know it’s not meant to make you spit fire.”

“Well that’s how my grandmother always did it and I won’t disgrace her memory!”

Omera grabbed the ladle from the top of a nearby table and used it to part the sea of onlookers around the pot. Once in range, she took one sip of the broth, grinding the arguing to a halt at a moment’s notice.

“It’s good. Just needs to simmer a bit more. Patience.”

“But the salt--”

“But the spice--”

“Hush. I’ve made more bowls of soup in my life than you can count. This one’s good.” She handed off the ladle to a shocked bystander and walked off to her actual destination, next to the furnace. 

Winta was sitting next to a table, putting the finishing touches on some dough when Omera found her. She carefully aligned a red berry in the middle, so that the vaguely frog-shaped piece now had an unseeing, unblinking eye staring beyond the treeline to the North.

“Oh look at that, they’re gorgeous!”

“I hope they hold up well after baking!”

“I’m sure they will. Let’s put them into the furnace and head back to the square, we should be lighting the bonfire soon. It’s getting dark.”

Winta looked up at the sky, as if to make sure Omera wasn’t deceiving her. Their gazes lingered on the slowly unfolding starscape.

“Do you think they’ll make it?” Winta asked.

“I don’t know.” Omera knew very well they wouldn’t, but the tiny, irrational strand of hope, that one percent chance was still tugging at her. But no, Din said the timeline would be tough. Too many leads to follow up on, too many jobs to finish.

Coming back to the village square, the fight over the soup seemed to have settled down, and people were gathering around the logs set up in the middle of the clearing. Everyone was getting ready to light the bonfire and begin the festivities proper. Omera scanned the crowd - people were more cheerful than she had seen them in years. With the Klatoonian threat subdued, many could finally afford to relax, if only a little.

One face in particular stood out, though.

By the time Omera realized why, Winta had already crossed the crowd and scooped the Kid up in her arms. Omera couldn’t help but smile as she too, walked over to Din, hugging him and resting her forehead against his once she got there.

“How the kriff did you do this?” she stated more than asked.

“Do what?”

“I didn’t hear you fly in. How did you sneak up on us with a ship half the size of the village?”

“That’s for me and the kid to know.” 

Omera couldn’t see what was under his helmet, but she could picture the smug grin down to the last bit.

“We were just about to light the bonfire. Do you want to do the honors?”

“Are you sure the village is going to be OK with it?”

“You’re their hero.” With that, Omera stood back, and waved to the others so they’d give Din some space too.

Din held up his arm and ignited the small flame on his vambrace, and slowly increased the pressure until the cone of fire was twice as tall as the stack of logs. Not out of necessity - there was plenty of kindling underneath, but the village seemed to appreciate the show.

With the bonfire ablaze, Din walked over to a bench to sit between Omera and Winta. He leaned back, put his arm around Omera and deflated into his seat.

“I’ve needed this.”

“Which part? The rest in your lover’s arms or setting things on fire?”

“Yes.”


	13. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip felt like it needed to be an AU. Welcome to California!

Din yawned. He was doing his best to fight the morning: coffee, hot and cold shower, even a little five minute exercise routine. They had left the motel at the crack of dawn, not wanting to get caught in the desert at midday.

“How do you not have AC, dude, it’s 2020!” Cobb realized his mistake of joining him about two hours into the trip the day before.

“Car’s from 1996. And I  _ do _ have AC.”

“Then why am I sweating my ass off here?”

“AC’s busted.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Din.”

Cobb spent the next hour or so pouting and staring in every possible direction except Din’s. Din didn’t mind, he was used to long times without saying anything. No one liked the guys in the linguistics programme to start with, so sometimes he got through days of not saying a word to humans. People weren’t interested in the silent guy with the hat and the headphones.

Now though, he felt like he needed to talk. The road was entirely devoid of features, two yellow lines in the middle running straight into the horizon. He hadn’t had to turn the steering wheel more than five degrees in since they left the parking lot. If they didn’t start talking, he’d fall asleep. It wouldn’t matter for a while, but Cobb would be in for a rough surprise at the next turn.

“So.”

“Mm?” Cobb didn’t even look at Din, still trying to find anything interesting to look at in miles of rocks.

“Where were you going again? I know you said around Tahoe but that isn’t too specific.”

“Ah. It’s a place called bumfuck nowhere, might have heard of it.” He finally faced Din, and he could see the tired smile from the corner of his eye. “Look, ‘long as you drop me off in Modesto or something I’m good.”

“You sure? I can make a detour, it’s not gonna make a dent in the gas money.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Din hadn’t expected to hit a nerve by asking where they were going, but then again, neither did he expect to pick up Cobb in the first place. He just left the dorm with the carrier and his suitcases in tow, when he saw this guy, dressed half like a cowboy from a spaghetti western, half like a hipster who just finished his shift in starbucks leaning against his car.

“Hey. That’s my car.”

“Good morning to you too. You Djarin?”

“Depends. Move aside and I might tell you.” 

“Name’s Cobb. We met in acting two weeks ago? Heard you were headed for Sacramento. Mind if I tag along and you save on gas money?”

“Uh.. acting, sure, yeah. I prefer travelling alone, thanks.”

Din considered the conversation over, and moved to open the trunk, but the guy stood his ground, arms crossed.

“Do you  _ mind? _ ”

“Look, man I really need a ride, I slept through my alarm and the next bus isn’t for three  _ days _ . My mom’s a real slave driver, she’s gonna kill me if I don’t make it home this week.”

“Can’t you like.. catch a flight or something?”

Cobb sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “I uh.. I don’t do planes.”

Din sighed.

“Fine. There’s not much space left though. We split the gas halfway, and you need to put up with Yodito.”

“Who?”

* * *

Yodito, the adolescent tabby cat was currently sleeping on the dashboard on Cobb’s side, basking in the first rays of sunlight of the day. He probably tired himself out trying to get into Cobb’s backpack for the last half hour or so, without success. For now.

To Din’s surprise, Yodito and Cobb had found a common note pretty quickly. It took a few scratches, a somber acceptance that Cobb’s scarf wasn’t edible, nor stylish, and some bribing with treats, but by the end of the day Yoda had claimed Cobb as a person of his clan. Seeing that he trusted the guy, Din felt like he had made the right call when he let him tag along.

“How old is he?” Cobb asked out of nowhere, startling Din awake.

“Um. About a year and a half now.” For once, Cobb was still looking at him by the time Din finished the sentence, so he took that as a cue to continue. “He was born on my friend’s farm as a barn kitty. Gave him away to some person off craigslist at first since they didn’t want even more cats wreaking havoc.”

“Really? How did he end up with you, then?”

“Well I looked up the lady on Facebook. Turned out she was running a cattery with some.. not-so-great reviews.”

Cobb’s was an open book, Din didn’t even have to glance at him to see the worry and disgust in his face.

“Figures. So what, you bought him back?”

“ _ Bought _ is a bit too charitable.”

“Ha! Did you really steal this kitten? From a person you just sold him to? That’s unexpected of you, Din Djarin.” Cobb’s laugh was bright and genuine.

“Rescued. I  _ rescued  _ him.” Din grumbled.

“Well, I’m glad you did. He’s a cute little fella.”

_ “Mee-e-ow.” _ Yodito chimed in, yawning and adjusting his head so it was resting on his paws.

* * *

They didn’t talk much more during the rest of the morning, but somehow Din felt the silence was amicable and comfortable instead of the weird tension of the night before. Looks like Yodito had worked his magic yet again.

The moment they hit Modesto, Cobb told him to pull over next to a gas station.

“I’ll be fine from here, my folks can pick me up. Thanks for the ride, Din.” He handed over a couple of folded up dollar notes. Din didn’t bother counting, it was free money at the end of the day - he had planned to do the trip alone, after all.

Cobb waved him a hasty goodbye, and  _ was that a wink _ ? Din couldn’t tell, but he chalked it up to being exhausted from driving. Still a long way to go. 

“See ya on the way back” Cobb yelled back at the car.

Din waved back and stepped on the gas.

Only a few hours later, in Sacramento did he notice a scrap of paper folded into the middle of the money that Cobb had handed him.

  
_ Call me. _ It said, followed by his number. Looked like he’d be driving through Modesto soon.


	14. Campfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of hours after Baking.

“Okay, now you hold it here, just for a bit, no, don’t let it down or it will burn. Oop, nope, that is too far away, you don’t want to sit here for a day. Look, like this!” Din was sitting next to the last embers of the bonfire, watching Winta explain marshmallows to the Kid. For the fifteenth time. Din thought of himself as a patient man, but he had to admit Winta had nerves of steel.

It had been a long night, one filled with food, music, dancing and Spotchka whose fumes Din’s air filters had classified as capable of killing a man. Din didn’t partake in any of these vices, opting to enjoy the warmth of the bonfire and the sight of Omera from the edge of the crowd. Or, at least, he tried to.

It seemed like every villager had found their way to Din at one point or another during the night. Some had thanked him for taking down the Klatoonian demon, some had wanted to know what was under the helmet, some just wanted to touch his armor. One had placed a circlet made from some of the local flora on top of his helmet. 

“Winta, can you make sure the little one doesn’t set himself on fire and gets home in one piece?” Din asked.

Winta just nodded in response, skewering another marshmallow.

Din made the trek back to Omera’s house, quietly marveling at the fireflies barely visible around the treeline. She had excused herself earlier during the night, but the faint, warm glow escaping from between the old shutters on her window meant she hadn’t turned in for today yet. Din opened the door as quietly as he could, but Omera had noticed him regardless.

“You don’t get to sneak up on me twice in the same day, Din Djarin.” She laughed, and walked to meet Din and embrace him.

“It’s the flowers isn’t it.”

“It is. Are you coming to bed? You look like you need to sleep for a week.”

“Makes two of us!”

That earned him a playful punch in the shoulderplate, the beskar ringing out for a second in spite of the weakness of Omera’s assault. Din settled down, or rather, collapsed on one of the stools in Omera’s bedroom and started dismantling his armor, beginning with his helmet. He watched Omera sit on the edge of her bed, watching him with the same sense of wonder she had the first time he had done this. Her eyes drifted to the flowers now adorning his helmet.

“Oh, looks like  _ someone _ likes you.”

“More like everyone, and a little bit too much, if you ask me.” Din grunted as he removed his chestplate, a partially-healed bruise still giving him trouble.

“Sure they like you! You’re the hero of Sorgan, you saved them! Us.”

“Cara, too. And I just taught you how to fight back.” Din fell silent in concentration as he untangled some wiring. He would have to work on the cable management the next time he got the chance.

“That matters! People look up to you, Din, that’s why they were so happy to see you.”

“Well, they shouldn’t.” More grunts came from Din’s side as he wiggled out of his flight suit. He saw Omera wince, but she had learnt it was better not to ask about the scars, especially before bedtime. “I’m a bounty hunter.”

“I know. But you fight for the good cause when you can. No ordinary bounty hunter would do what you did for us.”

With his armor neatly stacked next to the bed, Din crossed the tiny room and joined Omera under the duvet. Finding a position that didn’t hurt was a long process, but he appreciated the soft sheets and Omera’s warmth.

“I had no choice.”

“Because for you the only choice is the right one.” Omera kissed his forehead. “Let them have their hero.”

Din finally found the pain was manageable when he lied on his back, with Omera on his right shoulder. He didn’t say more, but she knew it was because he was mulling over her words. She tilted her head a little to be more comfortable when her gaze happened on the crown on Din’s helmet again.

“Oh, I almost didn’t ask. When is the wedding?”

Din was already half asleep, his words slurred and slow. “The what?”

“Oh, you know.” Omera giggled. “When do you get married? To the girl who just proposed to you?” She nodded at the circlet. Din’s eyes flew open in an instant.

  
“The.  _ What? _ ”


	15. Protective

Peli was having a good day. She had spent most of it tweaking the fuel lines on the  _ Razor Crest,  _ which was like a puzzle that never seemed to end. After the Mandalorian came by for a second visit, Peli knew he’d be back for thirds and decided to acquire a handbook for the ship so she could do a better job at maintaining it. The datapad cost more than half the amount the Mandalorian had paid her, and only after she bought it did Peli realize it was in a language she didn’t even recognize. Still, the diagrams reached across language barriers, and soon enough Peli had a working understanding of numbers in what she assumed was Mandalorianese.

She had worked tirelessly to get the ship closer to the nominal values indicated in the manual, but every time she fixed a leak or cleaned out tubes something else would start acting up and send her back to square one. It seemed like the combination of battle scars, the Mandalorian’s modifications and ad-hoc repairs had brought the ship too far away from it’s factory shape. All that just made this enigma of a gunship more interesting to Peli. She would figure it out eventually, she knew that.

For now, she had turned in for the day and headed over to the cantina - she had to make a living, after all. Peli was currently staring down the mantis-like alien sitting across from her from the table, trying to goad them into raising her bet and growing the sabacc pot by yet another digit. Wedged between them sat the green Mandalorian child, cooing with glee every time a sabacc shift occurred.

“Come on, bugface, I don’t have all night.”

“ _ Fine. Fine! I’m raising. _ ”

This was good news for Peli. She had been happy to see the little womp rat when the Mandalorian landed this morning, and she was even happier after he had announced she’d have to watch the little one, since there was Important Mandalorian Business to be done. Probably murder. Peli didn’t care much.

What she didn’t know at the time was that the baby would help her win every hand of the night. He was attentive, sat between her and her mark, and his big, shiny black eyes reflected half the cards in her opponent’s hand for her to see.

“Ha! Bad move, bugface, I win again!”

“How?? How do you always know?” The bug slammed both their fists onto the table, startling the kid and Peli equally. 

“I’m just a natural. Tell you what. Let’s do double or nothing.”

Double or nothing was a good bet. Most of her opponents decided to call it quits at that point, and the ones that didn’t? Well, those were the ones who got her spending money for manuals in weird languages.

While the bug was thinking, Peli noticed a shape walk up to their table from behind her.  _ It was about time _ . She held out her empty glass for him to take. “Took you long enough! Get me another one.”

The voice that answered didn’t belong to the bartender droid she had expected.

“Get it yourself.” Instead, she found there was now a human looming over her, and not the pretty kind. She instinctively slid closer to the kid, trying to get some distance between her and the thug. His eyes darted a few times between Peli, the bug, and the little one.

“I said. Get it yourself. I’ll look after the kid, don’t worry.”

“No, no, thank you, we’re good.” Peli looked over to her companion, clearly as intimidated by the thug as she was. “We’ll just call this game a draw and be on our way, it’s late anyhow.”

“I don’t think so.” The thug said and took a step into the booth Peli was sitting in. 

That one move was enough time for Peli to draw her blaster. She was bracing herself with one arm behind her, and pointed the weapon at her assailant. Her hand was a little shaky, but she hadn’t drank enough to miss at point blank range.

The thug grunted. “As if. I’m not afraid of you, woman. You won’t shoot me. Now hand over the kid.”

He was right, Peli wasn’t prepared to shoot him. She was not a murderer, and didn’t plan on starting tonight. On the other hand, he was also somewhat wrong. Peli wasn’t a pacifist, or a coward.

_ Crack. _

Blood splattered across the playing cards on the table as Peli whacked the thug across his nose with the tip of her blaster, then braced herself in her seat and kicked him in the stomach to send him reeling backwards.

“There’s more where that came from!” She spat. “Look, I haven’t had this child for more than a day, but if anything happens to him, you are definitely not walking out of this cantina.”

That seemed to have gotten the point across. The guy stumbled out of the place, cursing - or well, trying to curse - under his breath. Peli was sure he would be back later, but she would be long gone by then. She turned back to her companion, gathered her scattered cards from the table, swapping a few on accident to make her hand better, and looked up at the bug, still frozen in place.

“So. You said you were going all in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? I love me some strong women.


	16. Flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today. Enjoy!

Din is trapped. Contrary to the usual flow of things, this wasn’t part of his plan. He knew coming into this mission that it was going to be sketchy, and that he couldn’t trust any of his “crew”, but money is tight and he hoped maybe Ran and his subordinates still have some ounce of honor left.

Turns out they don’t.

Din is now sitting in the corner of a plain, featureless cell, trying to get his breathing under control. It looks like the walls withstood blaster bolts with ease, and using a charge in here would be suicide. Beskar is strong, but even that wouldn’t protect him against the concussion and internal trauma of an explosion of that size, in a confined space. No, Din is going to rot in here until someone finds the husk of the pilotless prisoner ship drifting through the galaxy.

_ Slow down, Din. _

Every half minute or so, looking out through the vent of the door he can see warden droids patrolling the corridor. Some rounds, they turn to face him as they walk by, and from this angle, they look like another kind of droid that Din met under similar circumstances. Then, there was less light and more Mandalorians. And more death.

Din finds himself collapsed on the floor. He doesn’t remember how he got there, he barely even remembers how to breathe. There are sounds of explosions coming from outside of his cell, but he’s not sure they exist outside of his head. He’s half expecting one of the wardens to take aim at him during the next round.

He has methods to deal with nightmares, so he focuses on his breathing and starts counting corners, calling out the numbers under his breath. He only gets as far as two, the walls and the floor of the room seem to be connecting at odd angles and the sounds of missiles drown out his voice. 

His HUD throws up an alert: Zero has left the pilot seat of the  _ Crest _ .

That means they haven’t left yet. It also means he’s doing something else than watching the ship.  _ The Baby. _ Din needs to get back to the  _ Razor Crest _ , regardless of any super battle droids or impenetrable walls. Whatever is out there, Din must face it, if for not his sake, but the Kid’s. No one is coming to save him this time, because now it’s his turn.

  
His heart is still pounding in his ears, and his breathing hasn’t slowed, but he  _ did _ notice how his grappling hook could fit between the grates of the vent..


	17. Hot Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Followup to Confession

Din had regrets. This planet was clearly not designed to support human life. The heat was unbearable, even with the cooling systems of his suit working overtime. His display had assured him that the air was breathable, but the humidity was still enough to make Din work for each separate breath. There were swarms of tiny insects trying to find their way under the hermetic seal of his armour.

The flora was impenetrable - branches and vines in every direction, the ground covered with uneven, slippery roots. At least it made tracking his mark easier. The courier wasn’t too careful about covering their tracks or diverting Din, so they have been leaving a consistent trail of footprints and broken branches. The prints have been getting more and more recent, so Din figured he couldn’t be more than half an hour from catching up. Soon, he would be free from this moist hellhole.

* * *

A few days before Din was sitting in a run down cantina, staring at a puck with way too few digits on it to be worth his time, regardless of currency.

“Look, this is all I have, the imps have all communications under lockdown. You should be happy I got you anything at all!” The agent’s voice wavered a little, and his frown spoke of sincerity. He wasn’t lying to Din, this was really the best they had to offer.

Din absentmindedly reached out to keep the Baby from falling off the seat. “Ok, who is he, and where am I looking?”

The relief on the agent’s face was immediate. “A courier, fell off the map with their package. Last seen on Felucia. Heard he ran off with a bag of cocoa pods.”

“Hm. Maybe we can arrange something.”

The agent looked around, slumped his shoulders, sighed, then started gathering his shoulder-length hair into a bun. 

“What are you-- no, no, not what I mean!”

* * *

Din still felt sticky hours after his mark had been put into carbonite. Didn’t put up much of a fight, and his bounty would pay for at least part of the fuel. The more important part was, that as Din’s intuition had told him, the courier didn’t ditch his loot and was looking to use it to buy himself passage off the planet. 

The multiprocessor of the  _ Crest _ was now working its way through the beans, while making noises that Din didn’t think were healthy. Yet, at the end of the process, after adding some synthetic milk alternative, the result was a drink that looked and smelled exactly like the hot chocolate he remembered having once as a child. The scent of it was vivid enough to persist through the fog of age and trauma, and Din had to stop himself halfway as he raised the mug to his helmet. No, this one wasn’t for him.

The kid devoured the drink in mere seconds, then stared at Din with the same face of amazement he had when he first laid eyes on frog eggs. Din considered that a win, and felt tension escape his shoulders.

  
“I hope we’re even  _ now _ , you little demon.”


	18. Memory Lane

Kuiil had an easy time patching up the chassis of the IG-11 unit that the Mandalorian had left behind. It was a well built model, designed to withstand extreme conditions, and the bounty hunter had been surgical in his killing. Some memory banks have been scorched, but only ones that housed operational data. Kuiil could replace them with whatever he could buy from the Jawas and IG would be almost as good as new.

Reprogramming him was a little more challenging, but Kuiil was resourceful and patient. IG was a combat droid, so he had layers upon layers of protection around his programming. If someone were to hack a military grade droid in a situation, it could easily turn the tide on its owners. Kuiil didn’t have the tools to circumvent these protections, but he didn’t need to. All he needed was access to the core directive of the droid, if he could change that, the rest of the programming would adapt.

_ Protect. Nurse. Nurture. _

The more difficult part came after Kuiil booted IG up for the first time. With some of his processing units replaced, his core directive overwritten, and his memory lanes having different timings, IG was barely able to sit up. Kuiil made sure that all the servos worked as intended in isolation, so the only way forward was the slow process of rehabilitation.

Kuiil wove IG11 into his daily routine. Where he went, so did IG, very slowly. Feeding the blurgs became an hours-long ordeal, and evening tea ended up more often on the floor than the cup. Even so, Kuiil found it hard to be upset over this. He had earned his freedom, and had all the time in the world.

Now he was sitting at his workbench, sifting through the salvage from the camp that the Mandalorian had cleared out. Nothing too valuable, but some parts would make good replacements for when his equipment would inevitably die on him.

A metallic noise from the storage room caught Kuiil’s attention. The blurgs shouldn’t be able to get in there, and he had laid IG to rest for today. He grabbed his blaster and snuck up to the door, sticking close to the wall, making no noise. He took three deep breaths to steady his trembling hand and pressed the switch to open the door.

It took him a moment to notice the source of the sound: IG-11 was splayed in the corner, next to a pile of as-of-yet unsorted salvage. Kuiil quickly engaged the safety on his blaster, holstered it and got on his knee next to the droid.

“IG! What are you doing here?”

“My built-in thermal detonator unit has been removed. I am looking for a replacement.”

“I have removed your thermal detonator because you’re not in any shape yet to wield weapons.” Kuiil bent down and wrapped IG’s arm around himself, grunting as he stood up. The droid offered little resistance as he walked back toward the main room to set him back down next to his charging port.

“I need to have a detonator unit to initiate self destruction.”

“Nonsense. You will do no such thing.”

“But my programming dictates that if I am unable to fulfil my directive, I must self-destruct to avoid getting captured. I must replace the thermal detonator unit.”

Kuiil settled down next to the droid, feeling every bone in his body creak.

“You will fulfill your programming, I am sure of that. I may be old, but my hands are just as capable as ever. We will keep up your training, and you will be a fully functional nurse droid.”

“Our training regimen has not been effective. Current trajectory points to catastrophic failure.”

Kuiil scoffed. “I should have installed some patience modules while you were disassembled. Just because it doesn’t seem possible now doesn’t mean it’s not possible. We will get there.”

“My directive--”

“Forget your directive. You will be functional, even if it takes a lifetime. I have spoken.” Kuiil stood up to end the conversation, then looked back at IG once more on his way out of the room. “There is still much to learn. We will continue tomorrow.”


	19. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Greef sure has good taste in movies.

Bounty hunting was a dangerous, adrenaline and caffeine-fueled profession, at least that was its reputation. What people never seemed to think about was that tracking down a bounty usually involved hours and days of prep work. Tracking fobs only worked below a certain range, and more often than not the target's last known location was months old. In cases like this, Din had to meticulously go over every last bit of data he got from the guild agent. Never knew which tidbit could ultimately lead him to his target.

Right now he was hunched over a datapad in the pilot seat of the  _ Crest,  _ trying to make out letters in the dim light of a nearby red giant. Usually, Din’s problem was that there was not enough information on his marks, so he had to start based on his intuition. Not this time. This particular bounty was a saboteur, officially, who was a former employee of a communications company. They kept tabs on their employees, down to the minute, so up until two months ago, the mark’s trail was a high-resolution, high-entropy pile of data. 

Din had to wade through all of it. Every backwater dockyard, every ticket on a ferry, every time the mark bought trash food off a street vendor then consequently didn’t leave his quarters for the entire day. Most of the data was mundane and useless, but Din was sure there was a pattern or a clue that he could use to figure out where his guy was now.

He was reading about the bounty’s travel patterns during his stint on Coruscant when Din heard a metallic clunk from behind him, followed by the  _ Crest _ ’s systems rebooting. That could mean only one thing.

“Come here you little womp rat!” Din was elbow deep in the maintenance shaft, designed to fit mechanic droids and green gremling. “Here.  _ Now. _ ”

With no trace of regret on his face, the Child showed up, and to his credit, did crawl right into Din’s hands. He sighed in relief.

“What did we say about crawling in there, hm?” Din turned around and made his way back into the cockpit, with the kid in his arms. “Only when I’m there, too, OK? Only with me. It’s too dangerous for you in there.” Din closed the hatch behind him and gently sat the Kid down in the copilot seat, clicking the seatbelt into place.

Barely did Din find where he had left off, he noticed in the reflection of the cockpit window that the child was no longer sitting in his seat, but balancing on top of the headrest. How he managed to get out of seatbelt was a mystery, but it didn’t matter much as long as he was still in the cockpit. If he fell, that would be a lesson for him.

Back to travel logs on Coruscant.

Seconds later, Din felt something metallic catch him in the shoulder. He saw the light catch the metallic ball as it rolled into the shadows under the control panel. Din would have to fish it out eventually.

“Alright, you need to calm down. I’m sorry I can’t play now, but I really need to finish these.” Din turned to the wide-eyed gremlin next to him. “You know what? Maybe it’s time for those terrible holomovies that uncle Greef insisted we take.”

Din fished around in the small compartment below the altitude meter, throwing out depleted batteries, ration bar wrappers and disabled tracking fobs before finding the little chip housing what Greef claimed was the best movie ever made.

The  _ Crest _ ’s holo playback device sprang to life immediately after it had swallowed the tiny diskette. It had been designed for communications and displaying orders from high command, so the holograms were a little fuzzy, the sound felt off by half a note, and the resolution was an eyesore. Still, the Kid seemed already captivated, even though they were only looking at the opening crawl for now. Moments later, a Jawa, armed to the teeth stepped into view.

“This is a story of revenge.” the subtitles said.

“Greef has a lot to answer for.” Din grumbled under his breath, but upon seeing the Kid’s gaze fixed on the movie, he seized the opportunity and pulled up the travel logs once again.

* * *

Two hours and a whole lot of dead jawas later, Din was sitting on the edge of his seat. If he hadn’t been wearing his helmet, he would have been biting his nails, too. The kid had given up on the movie about thirty minutes in, but by that time Din was committed to seeing this through.

Jeff’s crusade was drawing to an end, and his nemesis had the high ground. Only, as it turned out, Jeff was resourceful and didn’t attempt to leap over his nemesis, opting for dragging him down with the grappling hook instead. Din nodded in approval, but the fight wasn’t over yet. He held a blade to his tied up nemesis’ throat.

The other figure croaked. “Jeff. I’m proud of you, son.”

Din audibly gasped and recoiled in his seat. He had not seen that coming, but it all made so much sense in hindsight.  _ To be continued _ , the holo player said, with a slightly warped version of the movie’s super catchy theme song.

Din would hum it to himself all the way back to Nevarro.


	20. Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I gave them names. Sue me.
> 
> WARNING: Mild Season two spoiler ahead

It was a busy day today in the docks, even though with the current conditions it should have been empty. Murky rain was coming down in sheets, making it hard to see even the flares marking the edges of the landing pads. Anyone attempting a landing in this weather would have to be an ace pilot or a complete idiot.

The other thing that should have deterred traffic was the imperial freighter docked in bay twelve. These ships barely had any weaponry, but were loaded with troopers and nosy officials. Most ships flying in here had either illegal cargo or illegal crewmembers, sometimes both. It wasn’t worth risking an impromptu inspection. It seemed like after the destruction of the Death Star, people felt like the empire no longer was a threat, even though the Death Star never really had any real implications for the outer rim.

Anur didn’t mind the rain at all, but had no plans to cross any imperial paths. He wasn’t smuggling anything this time, but had the occasional bouts of creative bookkeeping in his business, and his chain code had some inconsistencies if someone looked too closely at it.

He stayed on the sidelines, blending into crowds and pretending to shelter himself from the elements behind stacks of crates, always with a clear line of vision on the docking bays. He couldn’t afford to miss any incoming ships, not this week. His last communication with Rana was five days ago, when she let him know that she finally found a way off Tatooine on board of a Mandalorian’s ship.

“A Mandalorian? Are you  _ insane? _ ”

“It’s going to be okay, I have something he needs, he’s not going to hurt me.”

“Honey, they are  _ mercenaries _ .”

“No, they’re men of their word. And besides, it’s not like there’s anyone better.”

“But--”

“He says we’ll be there in a week or so. Love you always”

Anur sighed. “Love you too. I’ll be waiting for you in the dock. I’m sure you’ll spot me among the Mon Calamari.”

He closed up shop the same day and has spent every waking hour out in the docks in some capacity. Even in his sleep he was staring at ships, trying to make out all the disembarking shapes, looking for his wife.

Anur was watching a Darius freighter take off when an explosion startled him from behind. He turned around just in time to see the starboard side engine of a beat-up Razor Crest disappear into the waves just next to a landing pad. Someone must have missed their target, it was bound to happen. It was a shame for the ship though, it had a reputation of being a thoroughbred disguised as a workhorse.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, since a couple of Mon Calamari trudged over to one of the massive cranes stationed at the edge of the platform and yelled at each other in a language Anur couldn’t understand. He was sure most of the words exchanged were expletives.

A few minutes and some false starts later they fished out the  _ Crest _ with its weight attached to it in seaweed. Water was still gushing out of the engine blocks when the side door of the ship disengaged. Something about the way its hydraulics worked looked off, but Anur didn’t have much time to contemplate it because the first person to disembark the ship was Rana. 

Anur closed the distance between them in what seemed like a fraction of a second, his breathing only slowing once Rana was tightly in his embrace.

“You made it! Are you OK, did he hurt you?”

“We had a few…  _ adventures _ . But I’m ok, the eggs are ok, and I’ll tell you everything over dinner. Tell me you made dinner?”

Anur sheepishly looked at anything but Rana. “I uh.. I’m so happy the eggs made it! We’re going to be  _ parents _ !”

“Yes! Almost all of them are intact, too!” Rana was the one to break the hug, but only to smile at her husband and pull him in again. “I can’t wait for them to hatch. I was so scared they wouldn’t make it.”

“I wasn’t. I knew you would walk through fire to protect them. I’m so proud of you.” Anur took a step back to get a good look at Rana. “See, this is why I love you.”

“Love you too. Now, why don’t you show me around our new home?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Anur grabbed Rana’s hand and led her away from the muck, the rain and the spice runners. A home was waiting for them to have their happily ever after.


	21. Kisses

Din was sitting with the Kid in his usual spot by the bar in Sorgan’s main hall. He had one elbow on the top of the bar, so his gaze was fixed on Omera but his body faced the hall itself. He had picked this up during one of his first real bounties: facing the bar with your entire body makes it really hard to get up and give chase when your mark takes off running. The number of threats on Sorgan was probably on the lower side, but these habits have since solidified into instincts.

Omera walked over to them and put down two bowls in front of them, a tiny one for the kid with steaming mystery soup, and an empty one for Din, to make fun of him.

“One bowl of soup and one bowl of nothing, there you go! Enjoy!”

Din laughed. “Not sure I’ll be able to finish a portion this size. Can you pack a to-go box for me?”

“You know I always do.”

“How long until closing time?”

Omera scanned the tables, counting the last few stragglers for today. Tomorrow was their day off, so there were more people around than usual at this time, some playing cards, some reading stories with a bowl of soup, some doing shots of spatchka. “Give it an hour or so. We’re about to run out of food and that makes people scatter in no time.”

Din was about to answer when someone from the corner table yelled over him. “Ay, sweetheart, get your butt over here and get us some more drinks, we’re parched!”

Omera sighed while she poured out three bottles of the vivid drink. “Another weekend, another evening of drunk Tars. I hope I don’t have to throw them out this time.”

While she rounded the bar and crossed the empty space between them and the table, Din stared down the occupants and evaluated whether he could use his flamethrower without burning the entire place down. The three men at the, or boys, really, couldn’t have been older than him with their ages combined. He had seen enough of their kind on rundown mining planets: barely into their adulthood, getting the first taste of independence before they find out that life will not let them down easily.

As Omera turned around to walk back to the bar, one of the guys leaned over from his seat and slapped her butt, getting a startled yelp from her. She stared daggers at the group for a moment before continuing on her path. Din was already on his feet when she got back.

“Don’t worry about them, ok?” She put a hand on the side of Din’s helmet, where she assumed his cheek would be. “I’ll tell the others I’m closing up, and let’s just head home.”

“Will you get in trouble if I talk some sense into them?”

“No, no, I’m just too tired to deal with rowdy guests now.”

“ _ You _ don’t have to.”

Omera knew there was no stopping a Mandalorian once they had made up their minds. “Just.. let them walk out on their own two feet?”

Din nodded and rolled his shoulders before walking over to the group, now laughing loudly enough that they hadn’t noticed him show up next to the table.

“Ha! Good one! Would you tell the joke again please so I can laugh with you too?”

The boys turned to look at Din as one, then exchanged nervous glances that they probably hoped Din wouldn’t notice. The way this worked, the bravest or dumbest one of them was going to stand up and get in his face to prove his worth to the rest of the posse. On cue, the tallest guy, sitting closest to him got on his feet and straightened his back to look  _ down _ at Din.

“Get lost, tin can.”

Din stepped closer, his arms loosely by his side to be prepared to deflect any knives or sucker punches. “No. The way you behaved is no way to treat a woman, or for that matter, anyone, and you won’t be doing that again, am I understood?”

Din enjoyed the visual of the man trying to stare him down, his eyes darting across the featureless Mandalorian helmet. Not having a pair of eyes to look at confused people, and Din knew to press that advantage. This specimen was too dumb to back down, though.

“If it bothers her, she can damn well tell us herself.”

“She won’t, because she is polite and is too tired from looking after this entire village all day, every day. I am not bound by any of these things.”

The man spat at Din. “Get out of my face.”

“No.” Din did the exact opposite. Throughout their conversation, he took small steps to back the guy up against the wall behind him, without him realizing. Now, all he had to do was tilt his head forward at a reasonable pace, and  _ bonk _ , the guy was now clutching his nose and spewing a mixture of curses and blood. “Now get out. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

* * *

Din was waiting for Omera to finish closing up in the doorway. She didn’t take long, but looked even more exhausted once she emerged, ready to fall face first into a beg. Her lips curved into a resigned half-smile when she saw him.

“Din, what did you  _ do _ ?”

“I uh.. I appealed to their better nature?”

Omera burst out laughing and started walking the trail back home. “You’re a terrible liar. Plus, there’s blood on your helmet. Tell me there wasn’t any stabbing involved.”

“Zero puncture wounds. I just kissed them goodnight.”

  
She waited for Din to catch up to him, and put an arm around his waist. “Thank you. But remember to wash that off before you kiss  _ me _ goodnight, alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Keldabe_kiss


	22. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to CoffeeQuill for the idea that Baby Yoda would have a bantha plushie after their run-in with Cobb

Greef Karga was sipping a drink, enjoying the midday break from pushing papers. Some days, he missed the secrecy and intrigue that came with being an agent of the bounty hunter’s guild. He usually drowned that feeling with another well-deserved sip, and the thought that he didn’t have to deal with all the hotshot wannabe bounty hunters day in, day out.

The door in the front peeled open, blasting Greef’s face with the hot noon air of Nevarro, and revealing two shapes: a characteristic, bulky Mandalorian, and a tiny frog-like creature, barely as tall as the Mando’s knees. Greef couldn’t help but smile as soon as he saw them.

Mando threw a satchel into the booth where Greef was sitting, the bag landing on a seat with a soft thud. The Mandalorian landed across him, with a much less graceful and more metallic thud, the Kid closely in tow, making a beeline for Greef’s extended hands.

“Well hello there, little one!” he paused after each sentence, waiting for an answer from the child. Most of them were delighted coos and giggles. “Yeees, I’ve missed you too! Mando doesn’t bring you around often enough, does he? No, he doesn’t, that’s what I thought. I hope he treats you right at least.”

Mando was slowly shaking his head at Greef, and drumming his fingers on the table. “Sorry to interrupt, but I came to talk business.”

“Yes, yes, of course, always business, I know.”

The Mandalorian reached into the bag on the seat next to him and fished out a plush bantha toy, and set it on the side of the table, instantly drawing the Kid’s attention. He started nibbling on its horn in the blink of an eye. “Alright, we’ve got about five minutes before he gets bored with that. I need something that keeps the lights on.”

“Okay, let me see me see what I have for you.” Greef reached into his own satchel, fished around for a long minute and produced a single puck. He started speaking while the hologram sputtered to life. “Bail jumper. Doesn’t have a chain code, but he’s got a  _ huge _ price on his head. What do you think, Mando?”

The bounty hunter fell silent in contemplation, or at least, Greef assumed so, since his face was still as unreadable to him as ever. “Do you want me to bring them in warm, or do you -- “ Mando had been fighting a yawn since the beginning of the sentence, and finally he lost the battle.

Greef waited for him to go on, not wanting to interrupt the hunter, but the rest of the sentence got lost somewhere in that yawn. The child noticed the sudden silence, too and tilted his head curiously at his guardian. Dropping the plush, he walked over to the Mandalorian, his eyes level with the visor on his helmet. He gently tapped the top of the helmet a couple of times.

“.. do you want them cold?” Mando jolted awake, immediately straightening himself. “Yeah. Do you want them warm or cold?” The bounty hunter looked around, as if seeing the cantina for the first time.

Greef deactivated the hologram on the puck and put it back into his bag, taking the baby into his arms instead.

“What I want is a day with the Kid, what do you say to that? We rid Nevarro of the last of the imps, surely you can spare a day in your  _ quest _ ?”

“No, I--” Mando couldn’t finish even this thought without yawning again. “--I must go.”

“I know, I know, important Mandalorian business. But I’m asking you, for the Child’s sake, and mine.”  _ And yours,  _ Greef added only in his head. “What do  _ you _ think?” he tickled the child, netting him a gleeful giggle.

Mando leaned in and pointed straight at Greef, then sighed deeply. “Ok. One day, and then we’re off,  _ with _ the bounty, and the second part of that horrible movie you gave us last time. Kid loved it. Deal?”

“I knew you would come around!” Greef stood up with the Child still in his arms. “Let’s go and say hi to Cara! Mando, tell the protocol droid behind the bar to give you the keys to room 103. You’ve earned some rest.”

  
The Mandalorian lifted his head to look at Greef. “I’m not t--”  _ yawn _ “tired.”


	23. Panic Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Given how I already wrote Din having several panic attacks, I figured he deserved a break and took the prompt somewhat liberally.

This two-week stint on Sorgan was turning out to be great for Din. He had just settled down on a chair in Omera’s kitchen/living room/dining room combo to finally enjoy a bowl of soup after a day of fasting. Omera had been kind enough to save some for him, and with Winta and the Kid still out playing somewhere, and Omera busy sewing in the bedroom, Din had the room for himself. 

The first sip was always the best one. There was something uniquely  _ Sorgan _ in how the soup tasted, probably some spice or herb that only grew on the planet, balancing out the burn of the peppers. Din couldn’t name it if he had a blaster to his head, but it quickly became one of his favourites.

No more than a second after the broth hit Din’s taste buds, someone started hammering on the door, with enough force to rattle the hinges. It was accompanied by some yelling, but Din couldn’t make out the words, though he thought he heard someone say “Mandalorian”.

“ _ Dank farrik. _ ” Din managed to slip his helmet back on and lock it in place when Omera emerged from the bedroom. She glanced at him to make sure he was covered and opened the door.

On the threshold were two young men, panting and sweating, obviously having made the trek to Omera’s hut in record time. Both of them tried to speak at the same time, punctuated by shallow breaths.

“Help, Mandalorian, Sir, you need to come with us, there’s a monster.. a ghost at our home! Aron stayed behind to keep it at bay but we don’t have much time! Please, we can pay.”

Din tapped his side to make sure his blaster was in its holster and grabbed the amban rifle from its spot next to the doorframe, and was ready to ignite his jetpack before realizing that he didn’t know where these men lived.

“Lead the way.” he barked, and fell in line behind the two villagers.

They arrived to find Aron standing on the front porch, holding a broom and trying to defend himself from a barrage of mundane objects - pots, pillows, shoes, all flying at him from the darkness of the house. To his credit, he deflected most of the projectiles, but every time he did he had to concede another foot of territory. Whatever was  _ in _ the house had the upper hand.

“Stand back and get behind something!” Din commanded, and Aron obeyed, slumping down behind a tree, panting and disoriented.

Din kept a low profile, crouching down and sticking to the shadows while he approached the entrance to the house, making sure that he wouldn’t be visible through any of the windows. The weather was in his favour: the sky was cloudy and dark, with no moonlight to reflect off his armour. He hunkered down next to the door, readied his blaster and hazarded a peek over the doorframe.

_ Clank. _

The spoon bounced off the top of his helmet harmlessly. It didn’t have enough momentum to disorient Din, but he needed to be careful, whatever was inside had good aim and reflexes. Din ricocheted a smoke bomb off the opposite frame of the door and waited for the smoke to fill the room before turning on his thermal vision. The owners of the house wouldn’t be happy, but cleaning the curtains was still probably a better option compared to fighting the beast in the room.

He charged in, looking for any heat signatures in the smoke, ready to shoot without asking any questions. Scanning across the main hall, the only heat signature Din could pick out was a tea kettle still sitting on top of the stove. No monster, no movement, nothing.

He carefully crossed the room, trying to retrace the direction from where the projectiles had been coming from, finding himself up against a wall with an open window overlooking the back garden. He leaned outside to look for escapees, and sure enough he finally picked out two shapes, getting farther and farther away from him. One of them looked like a small child, the other one definitely gremlin-shaped.

Din sighed.

Looked behind him to make sure no one followed him, yelled and growled for a while, then fired two blaster shots into the sky before walking back out the house. He could look the owners in the eye as he started his long, boring trek home.

“Good news. Scared it off. No payment needed.”

They shouted something after him, but Din was too lost in his brewing anger for it to register.

He arrived back to Omera’s hut and practically kicked in the door to find a very concerned Omera, Winta and the Kid huddled by the fireplace and a no longer steaming bowl of soup on the table. She jumped to her feet immediately to greet him.

“Oh I’m so glad you’re OK! What was it?”

Din glared at the kids in the corner. “Why don’t you ask them?”

Omera looked at the two, confused. Both Winta and the Kid did their best not to look anyone in the eye and pretended to be fascinated by the tiny embers flying out of the fireplace. Din squatted down so he was level with the two of them. He spoke slowly, in a measured tone. “What did we say about using sorcery on people? Hmm?” 

The Kid’s ears drooped. Winta finally managed to make eye contact with the Mandalorian. She said something, too, but it was too quiet for anyone to hear.

“What was that?”

“They harassed mom. They deserved it.”

Din turned to look at Omera, not asking the obvious question. She shrugged. He turned back to the kids, contemplated for a moment, and continued his lecture.

“Ok, so in relation to using sorcery on people, we say ‘at least be a little bit more subtle about it’.”


	24. Back to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ain't no Rest for the Wicked

Din was running his hand along the hull of the  _ Razor Crest. _ It was cold and covered in dew, with mossy patches where the couplings were loose enough for plantlife to get a foothold. He was looking for that one manual access panel that would let him connect to the ship’s systems and perform an override.

Spending a longer stint on Sorgan meant that he turned all systems of the  _ Crest _ off, going as far as severing its connection to his vambrace. It left him anxious, not knowing what his ship was up to each second, but this meant that it kept a low heat and energy profile, practically undetectable by any scanner except the naked eye.

Finally he found the panel hiding the controls, and after some not-so-careful prying he noticed that the input port was still in good shape. A few wires and some cursing later Din was anxiously tapping his foot while he was waiting for the software in his vambrace and that of the  _ Crest _ to agree on an encoding and finally give him control.

The options he had in this state were limited, but all he needed to do was power up the network transmitter to be able to connect properly and start warming up the engines. It was going to be a long process to get the  _ Crest _ to wake up completely, but the weather forecast said they had a generous launch window today.

Din’s vambrace computer chimed, signaling that the connection has been established to the crest. The readout claimed that there was more than enough energy left in the batteries to initialize the essential systems. A few button presses later, Din heard the gentle thrum of the life support systems coming online and the color on his HUD change from an angry red to green. Some systems still had question marks next to their names, but so far nothing had stopped the startup sequence.

The back ramp disengaged without much issue, too, though the sound of the hydraulics scared a colony of frogs that had taken up residence under the  _ Crest _ , making them scatter in every direction. The Kid looked around and almost fell over himself trying to decide which one to chase down.

Over the few visits to Sorgan, and especially the last two months, this place had started to feel like home, and Din was unsure what he’d think when he set foot on the metal ramp of the  _ Crest _ . The ship had been lying dormant but not forgotten, and there was a peculiar feeling brewing in Din, something like guilt, or shame. He couldn’t chase off the superstitious feeling that the ship would be angry with him for ditching it so easily, the way the controls responded to him in the hold said otherwise. Everything just as he left it, waiting patiently for his arrival.

Coming up into the cockpit, Din noted that to his major relief, muscle memory has not let him down. He didn’t have to look to know which switches to throw in exactly which order, and he knew by the way the sound of the generator changed what was happening in the ship. 

He would be airborne within the hour, and he found that he was looking forward to it. Sorgan had been restorative, but he couldn’t afford to let his senses dull or his reflexes slow, not when there was still so much to be done.


	25. Junk Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They really are called that.

Din was going to leave the Kid with uncle Greef for an  _ entire day _ . It wasn’t entirely his choice, Greef had basically blackmailed him into not taking the kid with him on another violent and probably lethal excursion into the flats of Nevarro. His leverage? The tiny data diskette containing the second part to that Jawa movie that Din couldn’t even remember the title of. Din had to get it. For the kid.

“So, just to make sure we have everything covered. He is not to leave the town, preferably barely even your office. Never leave him out of sight, and I do mean  _ never _ , because he will find the one vent that you left unsecured. And --”   
  
“Mando! Mando, my friend, don’t worry so much, the little one and I are going to be  _ fine _ . I have to run an entire town nowadays and barely anyone has gone missing or turned up dead. I think I can handle a magic gremlin.”

Din wanted to protest, but if he didn’t head out in a minute or two, he would miss the rendez-vous and this whole trip would have been for naught. He slumped his shoulders and sighed in resignation.

“At least make sure to feed him sometime, OK?”

“Of course! What does his kind eat?”

Din thought for a long, long moment. What  _ did _ he eat? For one, there were the ration bars he carried on the  _ Crest _ and whatever the dried packets of spices and noodles were supposed to be. He hoped he could recommend something better.

What else was on the kid’s plate these past weeks? There were frogs, he saw him devour one whole, while it was still alive and giggle about how disgusting the kids on Sorgan had found it. There was an ice spider at some point, that brought down the ire of a much bigger ice spider. Bringing that down on the freshly rebuilt Nevarro would be a bad idea. Then there were the eggs, at least three of them, and that was enough murder for the kid for a lifetime. Krayt dragons weren’t native to Nevarro, so that was out of the question. 

“Um, he needs lots of protein.” Din managed to get out, still racking his mind for options. Greef just looked at him quizzically.

“That’s not a lot to work with.”

There was  _ something _ he liked the last time they were here. Din glanced at the corner of his cape, seeing the faintest hint of blue, still. “The blue stuff! He liked the little blue uh, pastries he had last time! Do you have any more of those?”   
  


“You mean the Nevarro Nummies?”

“Sure. Those! Get him some of those.” Din leaned closer to the child. “I’ll be back before sundown. Make sure to behave with uncle Greef, ok?” he stepped back and mounted his speeder, about to take off, already minutes late. He nodded one last time to Greef. “I suggest you put on some robes that aren’t quite this.. fancy. Take care of the kid!”

With that, the Mandalorian was off into the horizon.

Greef looked down to meet the child’s expectant gaze. “Alright then. Let’s get you some bright blue sugarbombs and then hand you back to your dad, how about that?”


	26. Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not quite a park yet, but it's a start

Din flipped the last switch in the startup sequence, held his breath for three seconds, then leaned back into his chair with a contented sigh. The  _ Crest’s  _ engines responded to his signal, and the temperature readings on the screen started crawling ever closer to nominal. It would still be a few minutes before he could take off without causing any damage, but for a change they weren’t in a hurry. 

He climbed out of the cockpit and walked back down the ramp to spend these last few minutes on Sorgan enjoying the serene view of the forest surrounding his landing site. To his surprise, he noticed the Kid had found help in chasing down frogs, Winta was cheering him on from a few feet away. Din immediately started scanning the area, and it didn’t take him long to find Omera walking towards him, holding something that looked like a pot.

“You’re not leaving the planet without saying goodbye, Din Djarin.” she said once she was within earshot.

Din looked intently at the kids. “I said goodbye last night. Didn’t want to wake you up this morning.”

Omera’s face mellowed into a disarming smile. “You said, and I quote, ‘We need to leave tomorrow. Not sure when we’ll be back, but we’ll try to make it before winter.’ I don’t think the word  _ goodbye _ was in that sentence, do you?”

Din laughed, having no better reaction to being caught. Goodbyes were not his strong suit - he didn’t have much practice, and what little he experienced wasn’t part of his best memories.

“Well, I’m not leaving forever, so..”

“It’s okay. At least you don’t disappear in the middle of the night anymore.” Omera was now close enough for Din to pick out the thing she was carrying. It was indeed a clay pot, with some odd, purple vines dangling from its edge in all directions. Din thought he might have seen things like this crawling between the crops and being dug up by the people as weeds. It didn’t have much decorative potential, that much was for sure.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s something to remember us by. I think it goes by the names  _ weed _ and  _ purple motherfucker _ , if memory serves right.” Din tilted his head ever so slightly in bewilderment. At this point, Omera had gotten used to the nuances of his body language, so she went on with the explanation. “I know, it isn’t pretty, but it will survive in your ship. It doesn’t need any sunlight, lives through the harshest winter, and if you happen to cut it in half that just means you now have two plants. Hardy little thing, reminds me a bit of you two.”

Din lifted the plant to his eye level to inspect it. “If it’s so hardy, how do I stop it from taking over the  _ Crest  _ completely?”

Omera glanced at his vambrace. “That flamethrower should do the trick. I figured giving you more occasion to use it wouldn’t hurt.”

“You know me too well.”

She smiled, and put a hand on the side of Din’s helmet. Normally, someone doing that would have Din draw a blade before their hand reached the helmet, but with Omera, it was an easy way for him to accept affection. He leaned into the touch for a moment, before the  _ Crest’s _ engines sputtered to life.

He looked in the direction where he last saw the children and called out. “Come on Kid, it’s time to go!” The kid, to his credit and Din’s surprise, listened immediately and started walking to him. Only when he was a foot away did Din notice the frog tucked between his hands. “No, the frog can’t come. No, don’t do the sad ears thing to me, you know it’s not going to work. Put the frog down.”

Din turned back to Omera, gently touching his forehead to hers. “We’ll be back.”


	27. Car Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a jeep cherokee, no, I will not be taking any questions

They finally left the atmosphere, meaning that the rattle of the looser parts on the crest mellowed out into a gentle hum and the gases surrounding Sorgan stopped distorting the view on the rest of the system. With the cockpit’s smart windows automatically dimming out the blinding light of their sun, Din could enjoy the view of the nebula a few lightyears away. It would still be a few minutes until they were clear enough to switch to hyperspace, just enough to produce a cup of caff.

“Um..” Din heard the faintest voice from behind him, and he was sure it wasn’t the kid. By the time he spun around in his chair he had a blaster drawn and pointed down the hallway - at Winta. “hi.”

Din holstered his blaster and stood up, towering above the girl. “What are you doing here? How did you get up here?”

“I uh, I hid between the shelves in the hold.”

“That answers the  _ how _ , but  _ why _ are you up here?”

Winta pointed to the kid, currently perched on the copilot chair and staring at the oh so slowly moving stars. Din knew what it felt like having to leave people behind, so as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stay angry, or even annoyed with her. He sighed and threw a switch to disengage the startup procedure for the hyperdrive.

“Look, I know you two are thick as thieves, and I’m sorry that we had to leave.”

Winta was just eyeing the kid, rooted in place, probably a little terrified after having a blaster pointed at her. Din decided to squat down so at least his visor would be at her eye level.

“I’m happy that you two get along well, but you can’t come with us. Our path is dangerous, and your mother would  _ kill _ me if anything happened to you. Hey, no need to cry, we’re going to be back soon, OK? I promised your mom, and I’ll promise you too.” Din reached out a hand, which she took reluctantly, wiping the tears from her eyes with the other one. “Come on, we need to get you home.”

Din unfolded the passenger chair from its place and secured it with a bolt, gently guiding Winta to sit in there. He settled into his chair and turned the  _ Crest _ around. It would be a slow descent, no need to fry any more outer hull plating, and she deserved an easy ride home. He glanced back at his passenger once he was able to make out the treeline on the ground, only to see the Kid now sitting in her lap, barely coming up to her chin.

“Better strap in, the two of you, we’re about to land in a bit.”

The kid threw his arms in the air and waved them around, then tugged on Winta’s sleeve.

“Ok, ok, I’ll ask.” She whispered to him. “Um, he, or well, we were wondering. Before we land, could you do one of those things? The uh, rolls? He says he really enjoyed them the last time you did.”

Din had enjoyed the last time he made a barrel roll, too, only the cleanup afterward had put a damper on the thrill of the flight. Now the Kid hadn’t eaten for a while, they had plenty of altitude to work with still, and Winta deserved some cheering up.

“Ok.” Din laughed at the kids and turned again to face forward. “Strap in. And don’t tell your mother.”


	28. Make Something Beautiful

Din Djarin, Mandalorian, bounty hunter extraordinaire had a weekend project - for some definition of  _ week _ and  _ end _ , respectively. He didn’t normally allow himself time off between jobs, barely even between planets. Every waking hour had to have a purpose. With this little hobby, Din was skirting that line. There was an end goal, a product to be made, yet he found himself in an oddly relaxed and unfamiliar state whenever he dug up his box of tools from a forgotten corner of the cockpit.

“Hey Kid, get over here!” he yelled down the corridor. A series of clattering noises coming from the hold let him know that he had been heard, and that the kid would show up in five to fifty minutes.

Din pulled a leather bag from under his seat, removed his gloves, and ran his fingers along the seams. It was nothing fancy, but fashion wasn’t a consideration when he had gotten the bag a few weeks ago. It caught his eye when he was walking back to the  _ Crest _ through the market, and it seemed like a good idea. The kid drew too many stares in the pram, and sometimes Din needed to be subtle.

It turned out that the bag wasn’t quite the kid’s size, though, so Din had to make some adjustments. He had a sewing kit lying around, mostly for wounds and torn flight suits, but string is string and a needle made to pierce skin would have a decent time coping with leather. 

He wasn’t a tailor, and the simple act of giving the satchel a little more depth took him multiple sessions. Anyone who knew what they were doing could have finished this much quicker, and Din had considered paying someone to do this, but since there was no burning need to finish his project, he took enjoyment in learning something new.

The general shape seemed to be okay now, and the extra bit of strap let Din wear the satchel in a way that would hide it from most angles. The last step would be to add some lining so the kid could be comfortable. Din had set aside some scraps from the material that his cape was made of, which in addition to being flame retardant was deceptively soft. It probably wasn’t intended as a feature, but it was the perfect candidate.

However, before he could start to add the inner lining, Din had one more task to take care of.

“Kid?”

The little green gremlin rolled out of a vent next to the entrance of the cockpit. Din knew he could scale the ladder without issue, but ever since finding out about the maintenance vents, the little one preferred the more adventurous way.

Din bent down and held open the bag, facing the kid. “Hey. You wanna try climbing in there? Yes, like that, there we go!” He carefully lifted the bag letting the baby adjust his balance, then slung it over his shoulder. Checking his reflection in the canopy of the cockpit, Din noted with satisfaction that only the tip of one green ear was visible from the front.

He swung around the satchel so when he looked down, a pair of eyes was peering back up at him. Sewing the lining into the bag would take a lot out of his schedule, but if it meant he got to see this all the time? Worth it.


	29. Chapter 29

Din had just pulled the lever to enter hyperspace and had watched the stars draw lines across the canopy of the  _ Razor Crest _ . With the kid still munching on the blue sugarbombs in the copilot seat, Din got his first moment to exhale that breath he’d been holding since they entered the imperial base on Nevarro. He leaned back in his seat and listened.

The engines were humming a constant, soothing note, the fuel lines didn’t have the tiniest leakage and no half-assed joints were about to come apart. Everything was like the way the  _ Crest _ rolled off the assembly line a decade before Din was born.

He had tested the  _ Crest  _ and its repairs just hours ago by shooting down three TIE fighters - craft that should by all accounts be quicker, more nimble, and more powerful than his ship. Yet with a bit of creative piloting, Din had no issue taking down all of them in a matter of minutes. The  _ Crest _ was operating at peak efficiency.

And it was all wrong.

Yes, the system reacted quicker when Din tilted the yoke, the auto targeting behaved less erratically, and hyperspace was smooth and calculated. Still Din didn’t feel comfortable in the ship. He had been flying the  _ Crest _ for his entire career and they had developed an understanding. The ship didn’t bring a hundred percent all the time, but it also meant that Din learned how to coax out a hundred and twenty in times of need.

Now the ship was sterile and running like clockwork, but to a different beat than Din’s heart. This would have to change, he knew that, and started making a mental checklist of what parts would need adjusting, where he’ll need to put a dent to get the flow he needs and what version to downgrade the software to.

Most of that, he didn’t want to risk while in hyperspace. For now, they would have to start small. Din spun around to look at the Child shaking the last bright blue crumbs out of the packet.

“Hey Kid, you wanna help me destroy some wiring?”


	30. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came in a day late to Comfortember, so I'm making up for it today, with Rescue, the first prompt.
> 
> Thank you all for joining me in this journey and all the feedback. 
> 
> Shoutout to:  
>  * Panda, my tireless beta reader  
>  * The Covert, the Pobb squad, and all the other craziness that goes on in there. Go read CoffeeQuill's fics and join us!

Even though he went to Sorgan to rest and recover, he couldn’t leave behind all his vigilance and controlled paranoia. It hadn’t been that long since the Klatoonians and the Empire both tried to kill him and the village, so on one of his trips, Din bought a set of motion detectors to establish a perimeter around the village. They weren’t the fancy ones with cameras and nonlethal automatic turrets that he would have liked, but they did make a receiver unit beep whenever someone crossed into the village during the night.

Din didn’t expect them to fire at all, and got them mostly to soothe his nerves, but the third night after installing the array he awoke to the receiver beeping incessantly in the other room. He scrambled out of bed, donned his armor, not bothering to wire up everything besides the bare minimum, suppressed the alarm and dashed out of the house. The device gave him an approximate location of where the intruder came in - close by, even, so he didn’t have to run far.

The edge of the village was shrouded in darkness, and nothing made a sound in the middle of the night. Din edged closer to the indicated area, trying to keep a low profile to get the drop on the intruder. He crouched down behind a rock and  _ listened _ . Wind howling, the nearby creek splashing, and movement from a nearby tree.

Din instinctively tapped the thermal vision on his helmet and stared intently at the tree for any heat signatures. It was still a couple of feet out, but he could pick out a faint signal from halfway up the canopy.  _ Maybe a sniper? _ He plotted a path from his position to under the tree where he would stay concealed in the shrubbery. He’d have to dash for the last few yards, but he trusted his beskar to take care of that part.

Step by careful step, he got closer to the nest, flinging himself out of the last bush and bracing for a shot at him that never came. Any sniper worth his salt would have tried to stop him from closing the distance. Din looked up, trying to peek through the branches, only to find that the heat signature didn’t seem small before because it was far, it seemed small because it wasn’t a Klatoonian.

Turning off the thermal vision, Din Djarin found himself staring down a very frightened loth cat.

It was pretty high up in the tree, trying to keep its balance while also threatening Din. From the way its gaze kept darting around, it looked like it was searching for an escape route, but the only way out was down. Din figured if it hadn’t come down yet, it must not know how to.

This left him with no choice.

The bounty hunter took a few measured steps back, plotted a course in his head, pressed a button on his vambrace and activated his jetpack. He didn’t need much of a boost, there was no need to traverse distances, just to get on the same level as the stuck critter. It took him two tries to get a hold on it, but he had experience from when the Kid wanted to play fetch.

The creature gnawed at his beskar through the entire trip back to the ground, then launched itself off his chestplate into the forest at the first opportunity. In the darkness, Din lost sight of the cat in mere seconds, but for a moment, he thought it stopped to look back at him.

Din sighed and headed back home. 

* * *

Omera turned around in the bed and spoke in a weary voice when he finally got back under the blankets. “Where were you?”

“Just doing my job.”

“Which is?”

“Taking care of critters playing with forces bigger than they can handle.”

  
“Ah.” The answer seemed to satisfy her. She put an arm around Din and promptly fell back asleep. Din wondered silently if there was room on the  _ Crest _ for a litterbox.


End file.
